I, Castor
by IluthraDanar
Summary: A one-shot that takes place between Castor retrieving Flynn's disk and his waiting for Clu to arrive. What was he thinking? Comments welcome, my dear readers.


**I, Castor**

**I do not own Tron : Legacy.**

**Just a one-shot of Castor as he awaits Clu's arrival after he acquires a very important item.**

I'm in my office upstairs, staring at the circular disk in my hand. It wasn't just any identity disk I held, but the grand treasure, the key to an empire, one I'm hoping Clu will pay dearly for. I happen to know he's been seeking this item since the Creator Flynn had gone into hiding at least 1000 cycles ago. The Creator. More like the One who ignored the cries of his creations. I know, because I heard their screams for mercy as Clu destroyed them. First he destroyed their homes, then he erased them one-by-one in Tron City, hunting them down and killing each without remorse. Not a cycle goes by when I can't see a face of one I tried to save.

I, Castor, was always proud that my Club was a place where programs mingled without class distinction. Even programs loyal to Clu would come to enjoy my entertainments. I may have been known as Zuse to the ISOs, but to the city, I was Castor, proprietor of the best recreational club ever created.

End of Line sat at the top of the city's tallest tower. The view was electric, no matter which way you turned. The Sea of Simulation, where the User portal stood beckoning. The darkened Outlands, where Flynn was now in hiding. Why had he taken the coward's way out, and not stopped Clu from his induced directive to purge our world of the ISOs. So many friends lost, so many loved ones.

Except for Quorra. She and I had worked hard to protect the Creator and the ISOs. She worked alongside a program called Anon, while I would provide protection and supplies to those fleeing Clu's army of Black Guard. I arranged for forged disks that would protect them from detection. If they were stopped and inspected, they'd appear to be ordinary programs. The lucky ones would pass unmolested, as groups of Guards busily slaughtered their kind in the streets. I imagine the fear and self-loathing was overwhelming to their circuitry. But they could do nothing without betraying themselves to immediate de-resolution.

As for me, once I knew the fighting was done, and few ISOs remained, I concentrated on my own survival. I concentrated on my role as Castor, host extraordinaire, master of ceremonies for the End of Line Club. Programs would still come to me, looking for the ever elusive Zuse, petitioning for an audience. His reputation had been carved in data, giving the oppressed a ray of hope for a better world. But I no longer fought for programs' freedom. I was now fighting for my own existence.

Examining Flynn's disk, I wondered what secrets it held. Not only containing all the imaginings of our Maker, the disk itself was a key to the outside, and Clu wanted that more than anything else. What would he give me for it? What would he not give? We had negotiated my having complete control of the city. He didn't care, since he would be gone, gone to the world of the Users. I would stay behind and run things here, I told him. Oh, what a world it would become, alive with light and sound, to replace the dark despair and death cries I would forever hear, stored in my memory. The louder the music, the quieter those cries became.

And what of Flynn? He and his son were, no doubt, de-rezzed as the elevator crashed below from the explosion set by one of the last of Clu's Black Guard. Stupid program! I could have told him never turn your back on me, because I took that opportunity to get the disk. It's how I've survived through so much. Now it's mine, but I'm willing to trade it for an equitable price. The disk is useless to me otherwise, since I have no desire to enter the User world. Users are of no interest. Users have been the cause of too much agony on the Grid. And Clu's plans might just be the perfect payback for their ignorance of their children's sufferings all these cycles.

I was surprised, shocked really, to have the son of Flynn, the son of our Maker, in my establishment. Gem had brought him here at the behest of my old love Quorra. Poor naive Quorra, an ISO of rare quality, who trusted too easily, as if my love for her had not been replaced by the new directive of self- preservation. Son of Flynn trusted me too, unaware that I no longer believed in his kind. I had once before, but not since they had failed us so long ago. The funny thing was, when I first revealed myself to him, here in this room, it was like before. I instantly began thinking of ways to help him. But he was no traitor program, no pitiful ISO hiding from death. He was a User, and I don't help Users.

Then I saw her. Dear Quorra, I didn't know you had survived, and here you had come, attempting to save the Creator's son. I had to laugh at her, finding the irony too much to bear. As she had tried to save her people, she tried to save him. You always were on the losing side, Quorra. But I won't be anymore. I have something very valuable, more valuable than a mere surviving ISO. And I'm sure our Excellency Clu will pay a pretty price for it.

As if my Club needed any more cause celebre, he showed up. The Creator himself. It was almost unbelievable, but for a brief moment, when Flynn first appeared, the atmosphere in the room instantly changed. Programs who attempted to resist Clu's Guard, finding themselves outmatched, suddenly were empowered by the presence of the Creator. They de-rezzed the Guards easily, filled with new inspiration and energy. The awe was palpable, even for me, but that would not dissuade me from my hatred for Flynn, nor from my glorious victory. I had to quickly calculate a new plan. And that's what I'm very good at, the search for an opportunity. When I had seen the last remaining Black Guard take the identity disk from Flynn as he fled, I snuck below and awaited my chance to steal from a thief. I had also done away with both Flynn and his son. Well, technically the Guard had set the explosive, but I'll take credit for it anyway. I had destroyed the Son and his Maker.

So here I am, twirling the disk on the counter, waiting for Clu's arrival. I had set the sign outside, letting him know that Flynn's son and the disk were here. Too bad he's too late to have caught Flynn himself. What a moment that would have been. I'm sure he would have loved to show the User who had created him how he feels about the past as well. As for me, some things can never be forgiven. The deaths of so many cannot be erased, Flynn. But Zuse will survive, in the likeness of Castor, just as Flynn survives in the likeness of Clu. I find that extremely amusing. Don't you?

**A/N: poor deluded Castor, who mocks those who trust, and yet, he trusted too unwisely himself.**

**NO one has made any comments on this fic one-shot. So I have a question for you reading it. Do you agree with my reasons for Castor's betrayal of Sam (and by way of, Flynn), or do you have a theory of your own? I'm interested in hearing your ideas. **


End file.
